Buried in the Heart

PROLOGUE

Tunbridge Wells, England, 1920

Albert Sanders sat at his desk, watching the rain fall steadily outside his window. The blank sheet of paper beneath his idle pen was stark testimony to the difficulty he was having writing the farewell letter to his family. To the rest of the world, he was simply going on an extended business trip to India, but even though he had not said otherwise to his wife Elizabeth, she seemed to know that this trip was not all that it appeared to be. He wanted to write a letter that would explain what he was doing and why. He just hadn’t realized how difficult it would be. But write it he must, because he did not want his family to worry like they had the last time.

He laid the pen down and sat back in his chair as he thought back to the day in 1898 when, hungry and cold, he had stumbled into a cave in the French Pyrenees and his life had been changed forever. His left index finger gently rubbed the black onyx stone of the ring on the third finger of his right hand. He looked down at the only physical remnant of his adventure. The ring and the five years he’d lost while living in the caves beneath the mountains reassured him that the whole episode had been more than a vivid dream.

To the world he had vanished completely, leaving his family and friends to worry, then grieve, over his disappearance. They grieved for five years when, just as suddenly as he had disappeared, he reappeared, walking into the French village of Eylie wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing the day he vanished. When he discovered the date was June 5, 1903, he was dumbfounded. He had been within the mountains for five years!

He traveled to Toulouse where he sent a telegram to his brother John and then waited for his reply. It came the next day, and John arrived three days later. John was the only person to ever hear the true story of where he had been for those five years. John especially felt that it was best to not repeat the story to anyone for he feared that everyone would think his brother was delusional.

Upon his return to England, he said that he’d fallen into a crevasse while searching for botanical specimens on slopes above the village of Eylie. In the fall he’d hit his head then suffered from amnesia for five years. He was relieved when everyone believed him and did not press him for details. At first, many had treated him as if he were an odd zoo specimen. He came to understand that the unknown or unexplained weighed heavily on the minds of most people. For the first few years after his return, he would hear of some new fable being whispered about him or where he had been. But three years after his return, he married a well-respected, steady girl and then fathered two children. Slowly the stories about his disappearance faded.

Seventeen years had passed since his reappearance, and he knew it was time for him to return to the life he had known during the lost years. It was time to return to the Pyrenees. The war that was supposed to end all wars was finally over and he was heartsick with grief over the loss of John and so many friends. He hungered for the peace he had known while in the caves. His fingertip ran over the cool, black onyx stone and felt the finely carved lines on its face—the lines of a map that would help him find his way back to the cave.

He looked down at the blank paper and pulled his thoughts back to the task at hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for the pen, dunked it in the crystal inkwell, and began to write. When he finished, he removed the ring and slipped it into the envelope with the letter. He knew he didn’t need it to find his way back.

CHAPTER ONE

Seattle, Washington, May 1, 1994

Danny slid the house key into the lock, pulled the door toward her, and then released the dead bolt. As the door swung open, she stepped over the mail that lay scattered on the floor. Taking a quick glance down, she scanned the assorted envelopes and then bent down to retrieve the one piece of mail that did not appear to be junk. There was no return address listed, but she noticed that the postmark was from Los Angeles. Intrigued, she nudged the door shut with her foot and then walked into the living room, ripping into the envelope as she went. Reading the brief letter within caused her to stop in her tracks. With a scowl, she crumpled the letter into a ball and flung it at the wall. Stalking to the telephone, she picked up the receiver and punched in the number for her brother’s house in France. After three rings with no response, she thought about the time difference between Seattle and the French village of Foix and realized that it was nearly midnight there. Her realization was interrupted by her brother’s voice.

Oui?

Allo, Philippe. C’est Danielle ici. Je m’excuse pour l’huere. Est ce que tu est au lit?

Non, non, pas au lit. Je fais de la peinture. Qu’est-ce qui se passe? Ca va?

Oui, oui, ca va. She paused for a second and then went on. Well, no, actually at this exact moment, things are not fine.

Philippe was used to his sister’s habit of switching from one language to another, so he switched also. What’s up?

I just received a letter from Austin Taylor, you know, the lawyer?

Yes. I remember him.

He wrote to tell me that Pembroke never did the required 500 hours of community service. The bitterness in her voice betrayed her disdain for the light sentence handed down to the wealthy and influential industrialist, Avery Pembroke. Austin wants to know if we want to take him back to court. He says that, even though it’s been nearly ten years, we have a solid case against him. What do you think?

Philippe paused for a moment before responding, knowing that his answer would not be what his sister wanted to hear. Danielle, I think it’s time to let it go.

Danny couldn’t believe her ears. Philippe! That drunk killed our parents, obviously paid someone off to get such a ridiculously light sentence, and then didn’t even do the time! How can you suggest that we let him go?

He is a lonely, embittered old man, Danielle. All he has is his money, and you managed to relieve him of a good portion of that when you sued him after the trial. My point is that Maman and Papa are dead and taking Pembroke to court to make him do 500 hours of community service is not going to bring them back. Let it go.

Danny shook her head in wordless response to his advice. I don’t know if I can do that, Philippe.

You asked for my advice, and I’ve told you what I think, but I know you well enough to know you’ll follow your own impulses.

A ghost of a smile touched Danny’s lips as she heard the wise, older-brother tone come into Philippe’s voice. He was always so calm and even tempered while her passionate temper flared and waned like a geyser in Yellowstone Park. Not for the first time did she envy her brother’s equilibrium. I promise to think about your advice and not act rashly.

I think that’s a good idea. Let me know what you decide.

I will. Thanks Philippe. Sorry to have interrupted your painting.

Don’t worry about it. I needed a break.

Oh! I almost forgot! I’ve landed a job assignment in London, so perhaps I’ll pop over for a visit.

That would be great. Do you know when you might be coming? Sophie and Claire are going to Paris in June to see Sophie’s mother.

Danny’s brow creased. Probably in late June. I’ll let you know for sure as soon as I know.

Okay.

Well, I’ve got to go. I have to break the news to Stephen that I’m going to London for the job.

He’s not going to like that, is he?

No. My traveling has become a source of irritation for him.

Good luck.

Thanks, bro. Tell Sophie I said hi.

I will.

Danny hung up the phone. Although she felt better than when she placed the call, she still felt agitated because of the letter. She wanted to be calm and centered when she told Stephen about the assignment, so she decided to do an aikido exercise designed to calm the heart and mind. She stood very still, feet apart, and began to breathe slowly in and out. She began the graceful, fluid movements of the routine, and a familiar sense of peace descended upon her. When she finished, she felt refreshed and ready to face Stephen.

On her way to his house, she detoured to Pike Place Market to buy some food, thinking that preparing a good dinner would soften him up for what he was sure to take as bad news. She shook her head, amazed that two people could have such divergent reactions to the same news.

She would have bribed, begged, or badgered for this assignment had she known it was available. But the senior editor of Music on the Move had called to tell her that the job was hers if she wanted it. If she wanted it! Of course she wanted it! When the editor went on to say that the band had specifically requested that she do the interview, she could hardly believe her ears. The Mystic Celts had not done a personal interview in years, so this qualified as a high-profile assignment. She was determined to do it.

She parked her car then walked down the steep hill to the market which overlooked Puget Sound. She paused to watch a ferry ease away from its dock, moving smoothly over the sparkling water. She grinned at the office workers who had come outside to soak up the sun and take in the view of the snow-capped Olympic Mountains. As she entered the cool shadows of the market, brightly colored photographs, fabrics, and works of art lined the walkway, and she felt her cheery mood returning. She’d make a great dinner and then tell Stephen about the assignment. She felt sure that he would understand how important it was to her.

After buying the ingredients for Stephen’s favorite dinner, she left the market and drove to his house. Letting herself in, she carried the groceries to the kitchen. The house was quiet as she had expected, since Stephen wasn’t due home from work for at least an hour and a half. The time would give her a chance to get dinner ready while she figured out the best way to tell him about the assignment. She nodded her head as she mentally worked through the evening. They would sit down to a nice leisurely dinner, drink the fine wine she had purchased, and then, when he was good and relaxed, she would tell him.

She opened the bottle of red wine, poured herself a glass, and then began sorting through the groceries. As she finished arranging them for easy access while she cooked, she heard the front door open. Stephen was home early from work.

Merde! She muttered the French curse as she heard the door close.

Danny walked to the kitchen door and watched as Stephen draped his coat over the back of the couch before turning toward the kitchen. Seeing her in the doorway, he smiled as he came toward her.

What a nice surprise! He brushed his lips lightly against hers. After the rotten day I’ve had, your car in the driveway was a sight for sore eyes.

Danny smiled. My plans changed, so I thought I’d surprise you by making you a nice dinner. She pointed into the kitchen at the food on the counter.

Stephen looked in at the ingredients sitting on the counter and then looked at her apologetically. I hate to tell you this, but I’m not in the least bit hungry. I had a late, long, and very grueling lunch with a client.

She moved to the wine bottle, not letting him see her disappointment. In that case, how ‘bout I pour you a glass of wine?

I was thinking of something a bit stronger, he said as he pulled a bottle of Johnny Walker Red out of a cupboard. He put a couple of ice cubes into a glass and then poured three fingers of the scotch over the ice. I have truly just had the day from hell, he said after taking a swig from the glass. He took her hand and pulled her toward him. The only good thing that happened today, besides the very nice surprise of your presence here now, is that I found the perfect place for us to stay when we go to Oregon in June.

Danny swallowed and gave him a bleak smile. In her excitement over the assignment, she had completely forgotten about their plans to go to the Oregon coast at the beginning of June. Oh brother, was all she could say to him. Nothing was unfolding as she had envisioned. No dinner, no softening him up before telling him that she would be in London for the first three weeks in June.

What’s the matter? I thought you’d be happy about that.

Danny disengaged her hand and moved to where she’d left her glass of wine. She took a big drink, swallowed, and then took a deep breath. "I’ve accepted an assignment to interview the Mystic Celts for the August edition of Music on the Move. In fact, the band specifically requested that I do the interview." She checked his face to see if that made a favorable impression on him. It didn’t.

Christ. The day from hell continues. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar button as he leaned against the counter and thought about what she’d said. I suppose this means you’ll have to go to Los Angeles again? The flat tone in his voice almost made her wince. It told her that they were about to have another discussion about her job and the travel it required.

Danny, I don’t know if I can take much more of this traveling job of yours. Why can’t you get a writing job that allows you to stay in Seattle? The music scene here is booming. You could write about all the new bands coming on the scene here.

Stephen, we’ve had this discussion too many times in the past two years. I love my job. I’m a freelance writer and photographer, which means I go where the stories are. I did a series last year on the Seattle music scene and, as I recall, you complained then that you hardly ever saw me because I worked out of my own house.

There’s plenty of room for you to work here. The whole bottom floor of the house could be your studio. It gets plenty of natural light, and you love the view of the mountains. He paused and then added, At least then I’d get to see you on a more regular basis.

Stephen, you know that I have erratic work habits. She paced a few steps away from him and then tuned to face him. "I work all hours of the day and night. I need solitude when I work—no distractions. Besides, this is your house, your pride and joy. I’d always be aware that it’s your house, your space."

"I’ve said I’d be willing to sell this house and find another one with you, if you’d just say the word. A house that would be our house. His gaze was solemn as he looked at her standing on the other side of the kitchen. His voice was quiet when he spoke. Danny, I’ve said it before—I want to marry you and live like normal people. As things are now, I never know from one day to the next if you’ll be around for dinner or off gallivanting around the world. This new assignment, for example. How long will you be in LA?"

She nibbled on her bottom lip. Well, it’s not in LA. The band’s other condition, besides the one that I do the interview, was that it take place in London. And I need to be there by June first. Sensing his displeasure, she rushed on. The job will take two or three weeks, and then I figured I’d stay for a couple of weeks at the River Windrush cottage I told you about. If it’s available, that is.

So you’re completely tossing off our plans for Oregon in June? He made no attempt to disguise his irritation.

Well, why don’t you join me at the cottage after I’ve finished the assignment? The English countryside instead of the Oregon coast? What do you say?

I can’t just pick up and go at the drop of a hat. I’m in the middle of a very important project.

This isn’t ‘the drop of a hat.’ It’s not until the middle of June, which is over a month away. Besides, you’ve already planned to take time off for the trip to Oregon. She paced back and forth in front of him, ticking off the schedule on her fingers. I expect I’ll be done with the assignment by the second week of June, third week at the latest. You could fly to London, I’d pick you up, and we could drive directly to the cottage. We could have our little vacation in England instead of Oregon. She stopped pacing. What do you think?

Stephen looked at her in silence for a few moments and then slightly shook his head. Danny, this isn’t about vacations. It’s about your unwillingness to commit to our relationship.

Oh, right. Here we go again. She flung her arms out in frustration. I have to give up my job that I love to demonstrate my commitment to this relationship. Why is it that I have to give up so much so you can feel secure? Why do I feel like I’m the only one who has to compromise here?

I have made adjustments in my life to make room for this relationship, he protested. Don’t make it sound like I haven’t made compromises.

You gave up the things you were ready to give up. You told me you were tired of the jet-setting, man-about-town routine and were ready to settle down.

I didn’t realize I was tired of that life until I met you, Danny. I don’t want to just settle down. I want to settle down with you. Please don’t go to London. The tone in his voice caught at her heart, and she was glad that she couldn’t see his face clearly in the fading light. She knew from past similar discussions that an expression of love mingled with sadness was there. Part of her wished she could say what he wanted to hear, say the words that would clear the sadness from his handsome face. But to tell him she would give up this interview was something she just could not do. She had to do this interview.

You’re asking too much from me. It would be like me asking you to stop designing downtown skyscrapers and work on low-rent housing. You work where your heart is, and so do I. A high-profile band has asked for me to write about them because they like my style. Not only that, they are also one of my favorite bands, and I feel honored that they asked for me. I do not want to turn this down. Please don’t ask me to.

Stephen flipped a switch and three recessed lights came on. The evening gloom receded from the kitchen. We always come to the same place, don’t we? He sounded tired. He massaged his forehead in a way that told her he had a headache. His hand fell away from his face, and he squared his shoulders as if he’d made a decision. The same crossroad we reach whenever we talk about the future of our relationship. I want to go in one direction, and you don’t seem to want to go that way with me. Perhaps it’s time we went our separate ways.

Do you really mean that? She scanned his face. Yes, I think you do. Her voice became tight and cool. I’ll get my things together. She turned and left the kitchen, making for the spiral staircase that led to the second floor and Stephen’s bedroom.

Stephen followed her to the stairs and caught her arm before she started up the steps. Danny stopped and slowly turned to him, her body tense. He pulled her into his arms. Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not going to get out of this that easily. You know I don’t really want us to go our separate ways. I’m the guy who wants to marry you, remember?

His arms felt strong and sure around her, and she could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as they stood together. The beat and the warmth of his embrace calmed her. She relaxed against him, which he took as a good sign.

I love you, Danny. Please don’t go to London. I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.

She stiffened and pulled away from him, the sense of calm vanishing as her temper flared. I have a very good feeling about this job. It’s an opportunity I don’t want to pass up. She stepped back from him and regained a measure of calm. I do love you, Stephen. I just don’t understand why I have to give up this job to prove it. You’ve got to love me for who I am, not who you think I could be if I changed. That’s not how love works.

She walked back into the living room and then turned to him. Listen, I’m not thinking clearly right now. Can we talk about this when I get back? She tried to read the expression on his face, but the dim lighting left his face completely in shadow.

Danny, I’m ready to move on to the next phase of this relationship. Relationships are supposed to grow and change—good ones are, anyway. I need to know why you don’t want this one to move beyond its current status. Now, I’ve told you what I want. You need to figure out what you want. He moved toward her, paused, and then added, We could be very happy together if you would just let it happen. He brushed past her on his way back to the kitchen. She heard him make another scotch as she went upstairs to get a few of the things that she kept at his house that she’d need on her trip. When she came down, he was standing at the living room window, his back to her as he watched the sun set behind the Olympics. He didn’t say a word when she said she was leaving. She stood for a moment near the door, watching his back, and then turned and left the house.

CHAPTER TWO

Esher, Surrey, England mid-May 1994

Sebastian Sanders sat with his back to his desk and looked out of his office window at the fog that completely obscured the ancient cemetery across the street from his antique shop. The fog made the glass a better mirror than window, so he scrutinized the reflection staring back at him. He knew he was considered handsome, looking much younger than his sixty-three years. He kept his five-foot-ten-inch body in good shape and bought suits that were cut to enhance his trim physique. The suits were always black or charcoal gray, colors which he had been told complemented his silvering hair and blue eyes. In spite of the financial reversals he had experienced of late, he always dressed the part of the successful businessman. He noticed a strand of hair out of place and smoothed it into place as the voice of his shop assistant squawked over the intercom.

Excuse me, Mr. Sanders?

He turned around to his desk and pressed the intercom button. Yes, Groundwater, what is it? he replied, not bothering to hide his irritation at the interruption.

It’s Lady Evans, sir. She’s on the phone.

Sebastian sat up and straightened his already straight tie. Lady Althea Evens was one of his best and most loyal clients, and while her demands sometimes tried his patience, he never let it show. Alright. Put her through. His voice oozed smooth charm as he greeted her.

Good morning, Althea. How may I help you?

Hello, Sebastian. I hope I’m not interrupting?

Not at all. Your calls are always welcome. Are you calling about the Kraak porcelain?

Oh, Sebastian, I do so hate to be such a bother, but I’ve decided not to buy the Kraak piece. I just don’t think it will look right with the other Chinese porcelains.

The smile froze on Sebastian’s face, but his voice did not betray his discomfort. But, Althea, they’ll look marvelous together. I know what you have in your collection—you’ve bought most of the pieces through me—so I know that this Kraak will be a very nice addition.

Yes, yes, I know, Sebastian, you’ve told me all this before. I just wish you would have checked with me before you bought it.

Althea, years ago you gave me carte blanche to buy pieces as they came on the market. It was your responsibility to tell me that you changed your mind about that arrangement.

I am sorry, Sebastian, but I just don’t feel like buying it right now.

Sebastian grimaced, keeping his lips firmly pressed together lest he say something he would later regret. A moment of silence ensued as he composed a lie. I am honor-bound to tell you that I have another client interested in buying the bowl.

That’s wonderful, darling! I feel much better about not buying it. Now I really must be going.

In the future, I’ll make sure to check with you before I buy a piece. He sounded more nonchalant then he felt and was glad that his voice did not betray his anger.

Thank you, Sebastian.

Good-bye, Althea. The receiver went down with a bang. Damn! he whispered. His fist clenched and unclenched, and his eyes blazed with anger. Damn! he thundered as his clenched fist came down hard on his desk top.

Of all his clients, Sebastian had truly believed that Althea would stand by him in these troubled times. And of them all, he thought she would believe that he had not known that the Sevres porcelain he’d sold to the American was a forgery. A very good forgery, but a forgery all the same. A grim smile came to his lips. In this case, it was probably just as damaging to his business that he unknowingly sold the forgery since his clients now doubted his ability to discern the real thing from a copy. Althea was probably making an appointment right now with one of his rivals to have her porcelains appraised. This thought galled him so much that he stood up from his desk and began to pace his office, trying to unwind the coil of angry tension twisting in his stomach.

For twelve years, Lady Evans had spent a goodly portion of her considerable fortune at Sanders Enterprises indulging her passion for Chinese porcelains. Her patronage and extended connections had turned Sebastian’s burgeoning business into one of the most prosperous antique shops in southwest England. But if she was withdrawing her patronage, he knew that his profit margin would shrink considerably, and that thought chilled the flame of anger that the phone call had ignited. He stopped in front of his window and looked out at the grave markers he could now see through the thinning fog.

In the past year, he had watched his finances slowly thin from thoughtlessly secure to frighteningly unstable. The woman he’d married for her money had died leaving nearly all of it to charity. Two weeks after that shock, he got the news about the forged Sevres and business had been abysmal ever since. His vision of living out his life in the lap of luxury was becoming dimmer with each passing day.

But a small ray of light flickered in the dim future he perceived and, as he sat back down at his desk, he smiled. After a year of searching, his private detective had located his grandfather’s long lost onyx ring. The ring had been an important prop in his father’s bedtime stories about the secret treasure cave that grandfather Albert had discovered in the Pyrenees. Sebastian would hold the ring as his father wove fantastic stories about the magic cave, the vast treasure and the special map on the ring. He was convinced that, once he had it in his possession, the map etched on the onyx stone would lead him to a treasure buried in the Pyrenees. That treasure would end his financial worries